Revelation

There is a strangeness that accompanies revelation; not conclusion, not wonder, not awe, but the obviated sense that it could not be any other way; that it has been this way and will remain so, always. Right and correct in perpetuity. A painful permanence of rightitude; perpetually accurate and absolute unerring finality. That is what separates revelation from truth.

Revelation is the claw hammer to the face, the unwelcome and unforeseen kick in the nuts that reminds us all – everyone – that while one may borrow against truth in day to day dealings, the great cosmic accountant keeps very accurate and very thorough sheets; the kind of accurate book-keeping that hints at the unavoidable, uneasy feeling that that great lender will call in your marker eventually; that there is no real chance of getting lost in the paperwork or avoiding the audit. The cosmic accountant – that sick, twisted mockery of help waiting to pounce on those not carefullly reading the fine print on the karmic conditions of sale – will take from you what is most dear at the most inopportune of times. Without warning or plausible reasoning, the accountant will call in the mortgage and, loan-sharking as they would, take in payment what they want. No discussion of conditions, no discount, no right of first refusal. Business. That is what it would they would say; it’s just business.

And that is where the bargaining starts. Not with the accountant, the caller of the loan. No, the bargaining starts with everything left out of the transaction. The bargaining starts with what is not borrowed against. The accountant calls the tune, demands payment, punitive and deep. Valued far above what was borrowed, far beyond what is reasonable. Bargaining on parts the borrower thought held safely in the coffee can, stuffed in the sock drawer, tucked in the mattress; that nest egg for the rainy day everyone is sure will come (because the accountant for rainy days is no more above the board than the accountant for truth, and will come calling, you can be sure), bargaining on things not for sale.

And so the bargaining continues; bargains with other people, bargaining with other peoples’ things, bargaining with other people (second meaning, not a typo). And in the end, the accountant gets the farm, the house, the car, the dog. And the borrower (can we call them that? it seems more voluntary than it likely should) gets...what? What they deserve? What is coming to them? A staid reminder that there is no free lunch? A lesson in the fine art of borrowing? Life experience? (what, dare I say?) a revelation?

Revelation is what happens when the accountant, that great lender of dreams, catches up to the borrower. And the mystical and transformational revelation is the sole reward for the borrower. All conclusions, all wonders, any remaining awe; are stripped away, and the borrower is left to ponder this revelation. Dissect the perfect and complete certainty of where they are; analyze how they came to stand on this rocky shore, alone. Evaluate the choices and circumstance that form the edge of this great wall of ocean before them, squinting at the deep, grey-green mass rolling at their feet, wondering how to make it back home.